John Hart - Down River

I watched Grace as the preacher finished his talk of salvation and eternal love. Her face showed nothing, but she had eyes as blue as Dolf’s. She held herself rigidly and clasped a small purse against her black dress. It was obvious why Danny loved her, why anyone would. Even here, at this place, eyes seemed to find her. Even the women paid attention.

When the preacher finished, he gestured to Danny’s aunt, who moved slowly to the graveside and laid a white flower on the coffin. Then she turned and began making her way down the row of seats. She took hands, said thankful words to my father, to Janice, and to Miriam. Her face softened when she stopped before Grace. She took one of her hands in both of hers, and paused, so that everyone recognized the moment.

In that space of time, she beamed. “I understand that he loved you very much.” She let Grace’s hand fall, and tears slipped down the withered planes of her face. “You would have made a beautiful couple.”

Then she sobbed and walked away, a bent figure under a stained metal sky.

Her friends followed, climbed into the old cars with their silent husbands. My family left, as well, but I lingered for some reason. No, I told myself. That was a lie.

I knew the reason, and I fooled no one. Not my father. Not the preacher.

No one.

I sat on the small metal chair until all were gone but the gravediggers, who lingered at a respectful distance. I regarded them as I stood: rough men in hard-worn clothes. They would wait as long as it took. They were used to it, got paid for it. Then, when all had left, they would lower Danny into the earth.

I looked for Grantham, but he was gone. I laid a hand on my friend’s coffin, felt the smooth perfection, then turned down the long slope that led, in the end, to the stone that bore my mother’s name. I knelt in the grass and listened to the distant sound of Danny’s descent. I bowed my head and said one last prayer. I stayed there for a long time, reliving what memories I had. I often came back to that day under the dock, when slanting light set her eyes on fire. She’d said that there was such magic in the world, but she was wrong. Most of it died with her.

When, finally, I stood, I saw the preacher.

“I’m sorry to disturb you,” he said.

“Hello, Father. You’re not disturbing me.” I gestured toward Danny’s grave. “You gave a nice service.”

He moved to stand beside me, stared at my mother’s stone. “I still think of her, you know. Such a shame. So young. So full of life…”

I knew where his mind had gone. So full of life until she’d taken her own. The peace I’d felt vanished. In its place rose the familiar anger. Where was this man, I asked myself, this preacher? Where was he when the darkness consumed her?

“Those are just words, Father.” He saw the emotion in me. “Words count for nothing.”

“There’s no one to blame, Adam. Other than memories, words are all we have. I did not mean to upset you.”

His regret rolled off of me, and looking at the lush grass that covered my mother, I felt an emptiness like I had never known. Even the anger was gone.

“There’s nothing you can do for me, Father.”

He clasped his hands in front of the vestment he wore. “A loss like this can do untold damage to troubled souls. You should look to the family you still have. You can be of comfort to each other.”

“That’s good advice.” I turned to leave.

“Adam.” I stopped. His eyes held a troubled look. “Believe it or not, I normally stay out of other people’s affairs, unless, of course, I’m asked. So, I’m hesitant to intrude. But I am confused about something. May I ask a question?”

“Of course.”

“Am I right to understand that Danny was in love with Grace?”

“That’s right. He was.”

He shook his head, and the look of troubled perplexity deepened. Melancholy came off him in waves.

“Father?”

He gestured toward the distant church. “After the service, I found Miriam kneeling at the altar, crying. Weeping, actually.” He shook his head again. “She was barely coherent. She damned God, right there in front of me. I’m worried. I still don’t understand.”

“Don’t understand what?”

“She was crying for Danny.” He unclasped his fingers, spread his palms like wings. “She said they were going to be married.”

I pictured the scene as I started the car. Miriam in her sweeping black dress, her face full of hate and secret hurt. I saw her crumpled beneath the shining cross, hands clenched as she damned God in his own house and shunned the help of an honest priest. I thought I understood, saw the ugly bits of it. It was Grace, in perfect stillness, head tilted skyward as Danny’s aunt said, I understand that he loved you very much. And it was Miriam’s face beyond her, the sudden slackness, the dark glass that covered her eyes as those words rolled over Danny’s coffin and mournful strangers tipped their heads in silent condolence for a great love lost.

She’d told the preacher that she and Danny were going to be married. She’d said the same to me, but about Gray Wilson.

He was going to marry me.

Danny Faith. Gray Wilson.

Both were dead.

Everything took new meaning; and while nothing was certain, a sense of dread overtook me. I thought of the last thing the preacher had told me, the last words Miriam had said before she fled the church and its minister.

There is no God.

Who would say something like that to a man of faith? She was gone. Lost.

And I’d been so willing to not see it.

I tried to call Grace, but got no answer. When I called my father’s house, Janice told me he was out after dogs again. No, she said. Miriam was not there. Grace either.

“Did you know that she was in love with Danny?” I asked.

“Who?”

“Miriam.”

“Don’t be absurd.”

I hung up the phone.

She knew nothing, not a damn thing, and I drove faster, accelerated until the car felt light beneath me. I could still be wrong.

Please, God, let me be wrong.

I turned onto the farm. Grace would be there. Outside, maybe, but she’d be there. I crossed the cattle guard and stopped the car. My heart hammered against my ribs, but I did not get out. The dog on the porch had tall triangular ears and a filthy black coat. He lifted his head and stared at me. Blood soaked his muzzle. Teeth glinted red.

Two more dogs came around the corner of the house, one black, the other brown. Burrs and hitchhikers infested their matted coats, snot ringed their nostrils, and one had shit caked in the long fur on his back legs. They loped along the wall, kept their snouts down, but teeth showed at the sides. One lifted his head and panted in my direction, pink tongue out, eyes as eager and quick as darting birds.

I looked back to the dog on the porch. Big. Black as hell. Bloody rivulets dripped from the top step. No movement in the house, door closed fast. The other dogs joined the first, up the stairs and onto the porch. One passed too close and suddenly the first was on it, a whirl of black fur and gnashing teeth. It was over in seconds. The interloper made a noise like a human scream, then scuttled away, tail down, one ear in shreds. I watched him disappear around the house.

That left two dogs on the porch.

Licking the floor.

I opened the cell, called Robin. “I’m at Dolf’s,” I told her. “You need to get out here.”

“What’s happening?”

“Something bad. I don’t know.”

“I need more than that.”

“I’m in the car. I see blood on the porch.”

“Wait for me, Adam.”

I looked at the blood dripping down the steps. “I can’t do that,” I said, and hung up. I opened the door slowly, watching. One foot out, then the other. The 12 gauge was in the trunk. Loaded. I reached for the trunk latch. The dogs looked up when it popped, then went back to what they were doing. Five steps, I guessed. Five steps to the shotgun. Fifteen feet to the dogs.